spi·der·gram -a diagram used to represent words, ideas, tasks, or other items linked to and arranged around a central key word or idea.
When I graduated from high school, I moved from the security of my Sacramento suburban home, to the great city of Chicago. Chicago has given me some great opportunities, friends and experiences that I interpret here on my blog. It gives others a look into the way I think, and experience life. My blog is a peek at my mindmap, or spidergram if you will.

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Saturday, February 9, 2013

So ive been doing this project for a class where I write down all of the questions that come to my mind. Im only a few days in but I already see trends.
Most of my questions are about every day stuff, what to wear, what to eat, do I really need to bring that to class. But a lot of the rest are reflective questions. That have popped up going through old friends Facebook accounts or categorizing the 6000 photos I recently uploaded. Questions like:
What happened to us?
Why haven't we talked in years?
Where are you now?
I wonder if you remember the time when we:
fell asleep in class on each others shoulders,
wore matching denim tuxedos,
had a food fight in the kitchen,
played dress up with your moms clothes,
spent all of our free time building forts and wooden cars,
showed me the hand saw you keep under your bed for "emergencies",
would sing at the top of our lungs over the radio,
went skinny dipping in the pacific in the middle of the day at a public beach,
had a piggyback contest on the hills of San Francisco,
had our first kiss during media class,
painted a mural for class,
would race down the hill to the swing set after lunch,
thought that this stump was the coolest thing,
played with the wooden swords I made us,
tried to make our own legos with hot glue,
made tons of "money" on Business Day,
woke up in your bathtub with tons of people in your house that neither of us knew,
got locked in the bathroom together and the janitor had to take the hinges off the door,
spent an entire class period using Photo Booth on my computer rather than class,
taught "spoons" to the class and played for the entire rest of the day
learned what our teachers middle name was,
tried to get our favorite substitute to sign our year books,
bought a fancy saw to make projects from a book,
almost got lost less than a mile a way from my house,
walked from my house to yours just because,
rode our bikes to Grandpa's house without telling anyone,
went on self esteem walks,
did crazy makeup and photo shoots,
made bad decisions on a field trip to a mormon college.
shotguned energy drinks with our teacher,
were eating apples and were warned about finding half a worm in it,
went wandering around Sac State looking for a party,
danced around the music room instead of homework or studying,

This list is going to get a lot longer, but Ive realized why my work is so nostalgic and spiritual. Because each one of these moments has stuck in me as a moment of love. A moment to be cherished, because it will never be the same. No matter how things turn out in the end if we're lucky we will still have our memories we will still be able to think back on a time where our biggest worry was if thrifty would have my favorite flavor and when the new episode of Star Trek Enterprise was on. We often don't realize the impact simple everyday moment have on us, some of my best work comes from memories of simple things, like ice cream. And even some of the things others think that I would want to forget, Ive come to realize good or bad they happened and as far as I know you can't change the past so why let them consume you why feel guilty why feel regret. Things happen people change but in the moment they seem like good ideas so hold on to that keep the love once felt, the joy in your heart, the tingly feeling on your skin, the wonder that filled your eyes, keep the mist in your hair, and the beauty in the fog. Keep the memories.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

When I was about three years old I saw a t.v. show that would change my life forever. I was watching a marathon of Mr. Rodgers with my Grandpa. When suddenly the smiley old man with a fondness for puppets and zip up sweaters was replaced by a man with sandy blonde hair and tiny santa-like glasses. It was Rick Steve’s Europe and he was visiting Paris. I remember sitting on my grandpa’s lap with my eyes glued to the screen.

He went to Notre Dame, scaled the steps of Montmarte, walked the Champs-Élysées, went on Le Grande Roue, all of the things you are supposed to do in Paris and few more. But of all the things in Paris it was the Louvre that enchanted me. Its history as a royal palace, its strange pyramid in the courtyard, but most of all Winged Victory. How could something with out a face or arms be so beautiful and so elegantly capture movement. I think my child self resolved that it must have been an unfortunate angel who fell in the path of Medusa and was turned to stone, in my mind there was no way something like that could have been made by a human. In any case this city captured me in such a way that at a very young age I knew that I would go to Paris someday. It was not a mater of if but to me I saw it as something that was going to happen, someday I knew I would be walking the banks of the Seine with Notre Dame on the horizon. Even at the young age of three I would tell people that I was going to Paris, it was just a matter of time.

It was afternoons like that one spent at my grandparents house watching PBS shows, building blanket forts, making dolls out of socks with my grandma, or racing my sister to the lone swing that hung from the largest Pecan tree this side off the Pecos river. That I miss the most from my childhood. I spent so much time with my grandparents by the time I was in kindergarden I had picked up a little bit of their Texas accent.

I remember one day during the dreaded reading group time, which I hated because I already knew how to read, this ornery little kid called me out for saying y’all in front of the whole class. It was incidents like this that made me dislike the people at my school, I enjoyed learning, I just was not so hot on all the kids there, I continued to visit my Papa and Grandma every day and I further retreated into their love. The children in my class thought it was silly that I was going on trip “someday” they were very set on making me feel that I was very odd. At that age I didn’t know anything else that I might want as a grown up, I just knew that someday I would go to Paris.

After school and during vacations and summer I stayed with my grandparents while both my parents worked. My sister and I would do puzzles with my grandparents, help them in their acre with raking and cleaning up after their fruit trees an garden. In the mornings when my mom would drop us off I would help my grandpa. I would go into his room and help him button his shirt, put shaving cream on his face, help him shave and get his dentures for him from their glass. Then we would sit down for breakfast. By that time my grandma and my sister would have ate already and would be in the yard working, but Papa and I would always spend our mornings together.

My Papa kept needing more and more help from me in the mornings, eventually I wasn’t enough help for him. I knew that he had cancer, but at the age of seven I just thought It was something that all old people got. First my dad and I had to make all theses ramps for him and his walker which was decorated with every sticker I could get my hands on. Then It was a shower chair and a wheel chair. Next was a hospital bed, then meals in bed, oxygen and a nurse. One day my dad came to pick me up from school early, I thought it was for my sisters Open House but he took me to my Grandparents house where my sister and my Aunt Sherry and my Grandma were and they told me he was gone. I remember going into his room but all I remember seeing are his skinny long feet touching the foot of his bed, his closet open reveling the classic Members Only jacket he always wore, and the owl wind chime that hung from a corner of his room. I remember feeling really sad and crying for hour

When my grandma passed away my junior year of high school, the woman who took care of me as a little kid, the woman who taught me to sew the woman who kept my papa’s memories alive by telling his stories through her tears, and so many other things. Ironically my grandmas passing allowed me to complete the one thing I had always known, that I needed to go to Paris. She left me enough money to fund me to go on a class exchange program to France for a month.

Its funny how things end up how our beginning tie our end, how falling in love with an idea in an orange chair can land you swimming in the Mediterranean sea with the taste of salt tingling your skin and the sun illuminating your oldest dream. I was so so sad when she passed, I still am, but at least now there is a hope that somehow they will find each other in the heaven they so deeply believed in.

About Me

I am a current student college student at The School of The Art Institute of Chicago, as an interdisciplinary fine art major. I chose to sacrifice the wonders of my childhood home in the great valley in California to slowly begin upon my ambition to better understand the globe, its inhabitants, people, animals and otherwise though travel and art both abroad and at home.

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"Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go write it down, either you over dramatize it or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate you never write it quite the way you want to." -Sylvia Plath

"I was of the opinion that the past is past, and like all that is not now it should remain burried along the side of our memories."- Everything is Illuminated